


The Gift of Mercy and Hate

by Frakme



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 7, Post-War for the Dawn, Speculative, The Faceless Men, Valonqar Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frakme/pseuds/Frakme
Summary: Post War of the Dawn, Arya comes across a dying Jaime.





	The Gift of Mercy and Hate

The battlefield is a churned up quagmire of mud, snow and blood. The groans and sighs of the dying are carried on an icy wind, that also scatters smoke and ash from the fires now being fed by the bodies of the dead. In the distance a dragon can be heard, its roars sounding almost plaintive.

  
Arya ignores it all as she picks her way through the mire, Needle on her hip and in her hand a bloodied knife that she uses to grant mercy to those beyond help. Behind her, men of the north gather the corpses to continue to feed the flames. Though the Night King is no more, there is still the fear of the dead rising once again.

A glint of gold catches her eye and she draws closer to the source. It is a man, covered in filth and blood, his once glistening armour pitted and battered, the lion rampant on the breastplate cleaved in twain. The lion, once bright gold, is dulled by a sluggish, streaming flow of blood that could only signify a mortal wound.

  
Arya kneels down to look closer and her presence is detected by the man, who draws a long rattling breath and achingly slowly, turns his head towards her.

  
"The little wolf," he murmurs, his grievous wounds robbing him of the strength to speak louder than a whisper. "How goes it?'"

  
"The Night King is destroyed, we've won the battle of winter," replies Arya, her voice steady and calm." Her face is smooth and emotionless, her eyes impenetrable darkness. Jaime marvels at how closely she resembles her noble father, long since bones in the crypts of Winterfell.

  
He breathes a soft sigh of relief and closed his eyes.

  
"But," she says, "The war is not over. The Night King and his army maybe defeated but your sister still sits on a throne of lies. She broke her promise to render us aid in this battle." Arya's mouth twisted into a sneer. "I expect she thinks The North is now easy pickings. I wish to prove her wrong."

  
"You may be right," replies Jaime, agonisingly slowly. The crushing pain in his chest makes it difficult to get the words out.

  
"My sister and my brother wish the war to end, for The North to be free of Southron tyranny. That can only happen with your sister's destruction. Do you understand me?"

  
Despair washes over his face. He loves Cersei still despite his abandonment of her. Not to mention the unborn child he believes she carries. Their last, now that Joff, Myrcella and Tommen are gone. The deaths of those children have destroyed Cersei, have left her cold and unfeeling. If he is honest, he knows the child she carries will be merely be a vessel for her vengeance or a pawn for her enemies.

  
"I owe the Many Faced God countless gifts," Arya continues. "You owe me as well. For your own deeds against my family and your sister's and your father's and your... nephew's. Don't think that you have redeemed yourself by this battle and by this death. I know you were only thinking to save your tattered honour."

  
She wipes her bloodied knife on her sleeve then flips it in the air, catching it unerringly in her hand without taking her eyes off Jaime's face.

  
"Kingsguard... Kingslayer... Sister-fucker... Child-killer; oh wait, you failed to kill my brother, didn't you?" She now stares at him with open contempt. He recalls the look on the Stark boy's face as he fell from the tower. But more than that, he remembers the look on his sister's face; part horror and part lust. He'd moved back away from the window to her, roughly pushing aside her skirts to find her soaked between her legs. He had fucked her hard, as he warred internally as to why he had just committed such a heinous act. An act for which he had never felt any contrition. After all, how could the life of one lesser sibling of a pack of Northern Wolves possibly compare to his beloved twin, the Lioness of the Rock?

"What do you want?" he demands weakily, blood now trickling from his lips.

  
"I am going to kill your sister," announces Arya. "You can't do anything about it, because you're here, dying, hundreds of leagues away from your lion bitch. The God of Death demands her life. I demand her suffering. You will give me your face, to appease the God and you will give me your words to help appease my family's thirst for vengeance."

  
Jaime stares up at her. He has long come to terms with dying, with never seeing his twin again. He nods briefly and resignations settles over his face. Perhaps his final words could warn her of her impending doom. But what good would that do? Cersei had made her choices which now lead to this point. She had chosen death over life, hate over love. He opens his mouth to speak but his strength is fast leaving him. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them, he whispers softly, so that Arya has to lean close to hear him. She listens carefully as, with his final breath, he gets the words out. Then, ending with a soft sigh, he gives himself up to The Stranger. Arya nods, whispers up a prayer and uses her knife to remove his face. Working quickly, she places the face in her bag, then removes his golden hand, any identifying pieces of armour, cuts off his remaining hand and, with a mace she finds near another of the dead, smashes his head to pulp. It is important no one identifies the body as Jaime Lannister's, before she carries out her deed. When she is done, she makes haste to find the Mad Queen.

* * *

She doesn't need to go to King's Landing - Cersei's army is at Moat Cailin, preparing to push onto the North. The fortification on The Neck still lies abandoned from when the Boltons routed the Ironmen by trickery, their corpses still rotting on the walls, mere bones strung with bits of flesh. She easily makes her way through, wearing Jaime's face, bits of his armour and his golden hand. She finds the Mad Queen at the top of the Gatehouse Tower, pacing the room impatiently as she waits word from her army's commanders that they are rested sufficiently to move North. Arya observes in a detached way that Cersei is still beautiful; her tight yet modest black gown accentuating her curves and the paleness of her skin. Her golden hair is becomingly circled by a simple coronet and her green eyes flash as she takes in the apparition before her, alarming her so that she sits heavily on the bed that dominates the room.

  
Cersei gasped; clearly she had never expected or hoped to see her brother again. She grips the furs on the bed as she struggles to compose herself. Arya is satisfied that Cersei believes that it is Jaime that the the queen sees before her. It had been a challenge to completely mimic a man who was so much taller than her but she had learned many tricks to help her fool other's perspectives.

  
"So, you crawled back then?" she sneers. Yet underneath the contempt twisting her mouth, Arya could see a relief and longing in those green eyes.

  
Cersei puts down the wine cup and laces her hands over her belly, which is beginning to show a noticeable rise. Arya notes that it confirms what Jaime had revealed before he died but concludes it would not sway her from her course, as he had hoped. Tywin's line must die, even down to the unborn babe in Cersei's belly. After all, Tywin himself had spared no child, born or unborn, when he ended the Reynes of Castamere. She forms Jaime's lips into a loving smile.

  
"Forgive me, dearest sister. I lost my head." Arya flawlessly mimics the Kingslayer's voice. "But I had made a promise to help defeat the dead, for you and for our last child," Arya nods at Cersei's belly. "The North have defeated the threat from beyond the wall and now only they stand between us and your victory."

  
Cersei's proud façade slips away at the loving tone of her 'brother's' voice. She opens her arms and 'Jaime' moves to the bed to gather Cersei close to him, allowing the queen to press her face against 'Jaime's' chest. Arya holds her as tenderly as the real Jaime would have, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

  
"I knew you would return to me," she whispers. "It causes you pain to be apart from me, my love."

"True," Jaime's voices whispers into her ear. "We were born together; one day we will we die together." Arya then presses Cersei down onto the bed and kisses her lips. Cersei leans up into the kiss, pulling her 'brother's' body closer.

"Please, Jaime," she sighs, "I need you."

A feeling of disgust feels Arya and she decides now is the time to end the pretence. She pulls herself out of Cersei's embrace and then straddles the prone woman, pulling her arms down to trap them between her thighs. Cersei looks up, half in confusion and half in lust. Slowly, surely, she pulls Jaime's face away from home, satisfied as the horror slowly dawns on Cersei's face. 

"Jaime is a corpse on a battlefield," she says calmly, covering Cersei's mouth as she looks as if about to scream. "He's been dead for weeks. I was with him when he died. I told him I would kill you. He told me you carried his child but that the child was cursed. That killing both you and it would be a mercy."

Cersei tries to shake her head, wanting to deny the words. She knows in her heart, however, that the words of Maggy the Frog deny the existence of the child she was carrying. She struggles fruitlessly to free herself but the stranger who had been wearing her twin's face has her in an iron grip.

"Who are you?" she gasps; though she knows the face seems familiar she cannot place it. When one has as many enemies as Cersei, it can be hard to keep track.

"Arya Stark of Winterfell, sister to the King in the North and the Lady of Winterfell." Recognition dawns on Cersei's face as Arya discards the golden hand revealing both of her own which she wraps around Cersei's neck. She is quick, efficient and strong and so after a brief struggle for breath, Cersei is lying dead on the bed. 

* * *

 

Another name now crossed off her list, thinks Arya. There are still a few more; her work is not finished. She'll need to impersonate Cersei now in order to turn the Southron army back to King's Landing. In Cersei's name she will help to broker peace between the North and the South before she arranges for Cersei's public death.

Perhaps, one day when she has crossed every name off her list, she can finally return home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I must admit, I am not convinced that Arya will be the one to end Cersei. She doesn't quite fit the Valonqar prophesy. But this plot bunny jumped in my head and demanded to be written. It's the first story I have written in the GOT fandom.


End file.
